Safe Behind Bars
by Annabel the Scribe
Summary: In which Javert has serious issues, Valjean is put in a VERY odd predicament, two male OCs are introduced and almost nothing is as it seems.
1. Nightmares

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Mis. Or Javert. Or what passes for Valjean in this. However, I am currently working on a machine that shall – ah. Ehm. Never mind.**

**-sigh- I have the most awful feeling that this is going to be flamed…**

**Well… my second fan-fiction. It'll probably be awful because, once again, I wrote the first bit at one o' clock in the morning. I know you all think I'm insane! You're perfectly right! However, if you think I'm a sadistic maniac who likes watching things suffer, you're wrong. I'm a sadistic maniac who likes watching _Valjean_ suffer. Because… I don't like him. Yeah. I also like making Javert suffer, because that's fun. That… well, that's just me.**

**On a more positive note, there is something about this fan-fiction that I believe binds me to it somewhat. When I wrote the first few paragraphs, on the night of my thirteenth birthday, for a split-second I actually felt hot. My eyes stung and I could smell dust. You'll never believe me, but I swear in that split-second I heard a stone crack. It was then that I knew this fan-fiction was going to be very, very alternative. I have an unimaginably strange plot twist waiting for you all at the end, so stay tuned. Although I'm warning you – it is going to deal with a few issues that may not be suitable for little kiddies. There's going to be a little death, probably a lot of gore and a little sprinkling of psychosis.**

**You have been warned.**

**Read on if you dare. :K**

**Dedication: To Girl With The Quill Pen, my wonderful friend, without whom I would not be writing fan-fiction at all. She helped me with my two male OCs, Raphael and Clément (mostly Clé), and has been, in general, a good source of information and a good buddy. 3 Kudos to her.**

OoooO

The sound of breaking rocks split the air with spontaneous bursts of strength from the gathered convicts, working beneath the treacherous sun, which beat harshly down upon their backs with more ferocity perhaps than the whips of the guards, lashing out when progress was lax or hindered by preventable accidents. The air was clogged with dust from the breaking stones and heavy with heat, and the rocks baked beneath the sun, making even walking somewhat painful. Prison guards stood like wooden soldiers around the convicts, keeping close eye on their tortured wards. They were steadfast; stony-faced. They felt no pity for the broken souls before them, as was their job. If they did, they did not act on or show it. This was Purgatory, and the wretched worked in sight of the angels, whose word could mean destruction or salvation. They worked, knowing they had little hope of making it back to God. The dust stung their eyes, the sun beat their backs; the guilt ravaged their souls. They'd passed the point of no return.

Among the guards was a man named Javert.

He was taller than average, and an imposing figure although he was not of a high rank as yet, with broad shoulders and skin a little darker than that of a regular Frenchman – a gift, perhaps, from his mother, a gypsy, with whom he had long since severed contact with. He had pale blue, mistrustful eyes – not the mistrust of a frightened animal, but the mistrust of one who has no reason to trust; mistrust toward those in the world who have not _earned_ trust. His hair was a rich, mahogany shade, thought in time it would lighten to grey. He seemed to be always frowning, stood very straight and spoke little or not at all unless it were required.

Javert walked among the convicts, oblivious to the glares and muttered curses they gave him as he passed. Eventually, he stopped behind a man who, unwisely, had chosen that very moment to pause in his work and mutter, "Bastard," as Javert passed. The prison warden turned, glared at him, then halted and moved a step closer.

"Your number?" he asked. _Just because he can't keep a civil tongue in his filthy head doesn't mean I should sink to his level. _Convicts swore at him all the time, so it wasn't exactly anything unusual, but this particular insult had been singled out for the sole reason that it was true. The con wouldn't have known that, certainly, but it still struck a cord.

The man turned his head slightly then quickly glanced away again. After a brief pause he turned his head to present one side of his sweaty face. "Two-four-six-oh-one."

Javert tilted his head upward a little and turned to move away; but was abruptly halted. "Wait." The convict frowned and turned about fully, facing the guard. He paused, and Javert raised his eyebrows in a way that indicated that he was not interested, but would waste his time listening anyway. The man who had introduced himself with the number 24601 seemed to ignore this, and asked, "Are you the one they call Javert?"

"…Yes." That the convict should know his name surprised him a little, but his voice remained apathetic as ever.

The convict frowned still more. "I thought they said you died."

Javert stared. It was odd – the statement didn't sound like a lie, but Javert knew it wasn't true – he wasn't dead, and if he was, well, _he_ hadn't noticed. It was probably just some stupid rumour or joke, or perhaps –

The convict's face abruptly melted away, along with the rest of Toulon. He now stood on a parapet. A glance around might have told him it was the Pont de Notre-Dame, but he was not able to do so. Although he had not tried moving yet, a terrible, locking sensation gripped his body and as he stood, helpless, he began to realise that whatever force controlled him was forcing him nearer to the edge – nearer to the water.

To those who are confident and in control of their lives, there can be no worse ordeal than suddenly losing control. In Javert's mind, it was a losing battle between him and whichever unseeable force was controlling him. He would not be conquered! He was no-one's slave! He would not let this break him! He was not weak! Maybe once he had been a weak, emotional fool, but those days were over.

Weren't they?

As he stopped struggling, comprehending instead this one question that had risen above the tumult of painful thoughts, Javert inadvertently raised a foot.

Javert's stomach lurched. Against his will, his foot had been raised above the abyss. The feeling of complete helplessness was devastating – the whole situation was a violation, an invasion of his mind, his will.

_No! No! You can't make me do anything! No!_

Too late – before he could be properly terrified, he found himself leaning forward slightly and tipping off the bridge. Tipping; slowly at first, then faster, until he was falling through the air, water rushing up toward him.

Then, quite simply, he woke up.

OoooO

_That _dream_ again,_ he thought later, striding into the office with his regular composure, a small pile of papers held under his arm.

"Oh! Inspector! Inspector!"

"Ugh…" Javert muttered, shuddering slightly. _Just_ what he needed. He pretended to ignore the cries, hoping that they'd get the message. No such luck.

"Inspector!"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Jeune, when are you going to stop _following_ me?" he said, a little snappishly. The subordinate flinched.

"I'm sorry, Inspector," he said, boyish face crumpling.

Clément Jeune was new to the force. He was about a head shorter than Javert, who stood at about six foot, and had long, lanky limbs. His face was a bright with the innocence of youth despite his twenty-five years and his eyes, pale green, were rounder and wider than usual. He had a button nose and wavy hair of a sandy colour, and rosy cheeks. His teeth were a little crooked, making him look still more childish, and were visible with his boyish smile, which lit up frequently. Open and eager to please, Clément was an optimist; one whose attitude could make almost anyone smile. He was a man still in the midst of his youth, and if anyone loved life it was Clément Jeune.

Something to note of Clément was his unwavering respect for his superiors and his dedication. He'd been bought up and nurtured in a loving family with an older sister and younger brother, and had left home with a clear intention – to protect. To protect his family, his friends and, indeed, all of society. Clément could seem a little too flippant at times, but at heart he was a noble man – and he'd begun idolise Javert almost soon as he'd met him, though for the life of him Javert couldn't understand why.

Clément averted his eyes to the floor for a second, and then returned them to Javert. He stood still, tilting his head at the inspector. "Inspector, is something wrong?" he asked.

Javert stopped. "Nothing's wrong, Jeune."

An icy tone had crept into his voice. Clément faltered. "Inspecto–"

"Jeune, your job is not to be my friend," said Javert, gazing coolly at him, "it is to be my inferior. I don't need you to ask me how I am, because I'm absolutely fine.

"Always," he added hastily. "There is nothing wrong with me. If in doubt, that is what you assume."

Clément nodded slowly, confused as to why someone would get so stressed out over such a little question. "Sorry, Inspector."

"Don't apologise to me, Jeune, just don't do it again." Javert continued walking, passing the subordinate easily.

Clément dipped his head and followed him. Suddenly a laugh reached their ears. "Having fun, Javert?"

Tilting his head upward slightly, Javert observed the speaker. "Rouge, I do not believe that 'fun' is the correct adjective to describe _anything_ I do."

The other man snorted. "Really? Because from the way you carry on, one might be led to believe that you _enjoy_ torturing the subordinates."

"Just remember, Rouge, that you, too, are a subordinate to my eyes – and I am not _torturing_ Jeune," said Javert, voice lowering to a dangerous growl. "I am teaching him _discipline_."

"Could you do it any more harshly?"

"Why, yes I could," Javert replied, casting a furtive, dangerous glance at Clément, who was standing behind him. "I could tie him to a post and dictate the Code to him."

Clément looked startled and Rouge abruptly shut up.

After standing there smiling peaceably at Rouge for a while, Javert calmly strode off again, Clément scuttling after him a few seconds later.

Raphael Rouge shook his head. _He's wasting his time, that boy. Javert's never going to like him._

OoooO

"Inspector, do we have any new cases?"

"No, but I have a headache."

Clément sighed. He respected Javert, but sometimes the older man could be so… well… difficult. He sung his own song, that was for sure – Javert was probably obsessed with the law, but in his own, special way.

Javert, on the other hand, was having his own issues. He wasn't usually one to pay attention to his dreams, but this one just kept coming back, and the problem was that he first off had no idea what it meant, and was in the second place concerned about the convict in the first part of the dream.

24601.

Well, it struck something.

Ignoring Clément, he took a pen from his desk and began filling out some documents; it calmed his nerves – the thought of leaving things half-finished disturbed him and besides, these were due soon.

"Inspector?"

The addressed paused in the middle of a sentence. "Yes, Jeune?" he asked, taking his pen from the paper and gazing wearily at the minor.

"When am I going to get to do some field work?" He sounded hopeful.

"Oh, eventually. In the meantime you'll just have to continue pestering _me_, won't you?" he said dryly. He stood, gathered the documents he'd been working on into a neat pile, and stepped away from his desk a little. Then, suddenly, something occurred to him, and he stared at the younger man. "Clément – why are you in my office?"

Clément shrugged and seemed to disintegrate a little, as if embarrassed. Javert narrowed his eyes at him. "Go away."

Lowering his eyes and murmuring, "Yes, monsieur", Clément left the room. Javert watched him go. Then he sat back down at his desk, pondering his own thoughts.

24601.

Alright, the dream had been in Toulon quarry, so theoretically, whoever the man was, he would be in the Toulon records. He probably wasn't in Toulon now – Javert had a feeling that the dream had been set a decade or so back, when he had been a prison warden. He didn't know what told him this, but it was something.

He placed his hand on the desk and suddenly noticed something under the pile of papers he'd straightened earlier. It was a small, black book – almost like a notebook. He tilted his head at it and finally lifted the papers, pulling it out. He blinked. This couldn't have _possibly_ got here by itself – somebody must have bought it to him… but who?

The title, written on the front in plain, black lettering, was _Dossiers de 24601_.

It couldn't be true. This was absolutely ridiculous. Javert made a firm point of not believing in magic, but this was just plain unusual.

Opening the book, he smoothed the pages and began to read the profile before him.

OoooO

**Well… it sucks a little bit, but for a first chapter written in the erm… earlier hours of the morning, I'm pretty pleased with it. Be gentle with the critique, please, or I'll die.**

**Because I like to maintain a sense of order in everything I do, this story shall have a weekly update basis. The update day shall be Monday, but if I write slowly you'll doubtless get a pathetic excuse if I miss an update (and will probably get the actual chapter up a couple of days later unless I have a good excuse).**

**Plot ideas would be appreciated, although I have the basic bones of the storyline laid out in my mind. If I'm in a good mood I might give someone a cameo, though probably not. I don't plan to use many of the canons in this fic except for Javert and Valjean, but if you want to see someone else, PM me or leave a review and I'll see how I feel about it.**

**Another thing…**

**If you absolutely hate this, please keep it to yourself. To be entirely honest, I actually dislike most of my writing, so flames will likely be taken entirely seriously and will probably result in my getting upset and stopping the story (at least for a while). The thing is that I barely ever flame fan-fictions because I don't like hurting feelings. I'd thank you to do the same.**


	2. We Meet Again

**UPDATE TWO: MONDAY 2ND OCTOBER 2006**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Javert, Valjean or anything else from Les Mis. Clement and Raphael, however, are mine, and any attempts to steal them shall be answered to with Law.**

**Author's Note: Well, here I am, typing from my new laptop! This feels so weird, but great! It arrived in the mail this morning, and means I will be able to write whenever I want without getting into fights with my dad about the family computer.**

**Thank you _very_ much everyone for the wonderful reviews on chapter one, Nightmare. I really appreciate the praise.**

**Well… doubtless _someone_ is going to ask me if this fan-fiction is supporting a particular pairing. Well, let me tell you now – I _don't_ support Javert/Valjean and I would never even _dream_ of a Javert/MOC. So maybe Clement sounds gay. Hell, maybe he _is_ gay, I honestly don't care. Either way, he isn't hooking up with Javert, and neither is Raphael.**

**Just thought I'd establish it before anyone moved to ask me. I don't really like writing romance, and I'm not good at it, so… no. I'm sorry if I've disappointed you.**

**Regarding plot suggestions, I've just decided to close them until further notice. I have a relatively concrete plot set out, so unless I need help with my story I won't ask for it. Sorry I had to say all that, but I've received a PM I wasn't happy with regarding the plot. I'm not naming any names, I'm just saying it happened (and that if I receive _one_ more PM suggesting that I up the rating to M and have a hard-out Javert/Valjean romance going on, I will _not_ be a happy author).**

**Sorry to rant at you all… I hope to cut down on Author's Notes as this continues.**

The desk was not especially elaborate – it served its purpose, and that was all Javert needed from it. It was neat – a stack of papers to the left side of it, a few folders stacked on the other side; in other words, maintaining the unique order of a desk. Each person has a certain way they like their desks to be – in fact, by looking at what one has on their desk, and what order they have it in, can be an insight to their personality. Some people have things simply strewn across the surface as though a mild hurricane has passed through them. Others have things stacked according to size, and so on. From Javert's desk, one might have perceived that he was a man fond of order who became distressed when it was not present.

Javert sat to read over the book again. It didn't look old, but one could never tell with such books. As he flipped through, he noticed a note in diary entry form that had probably been taken down by prison guards during 24601's stay in prison. The date was indiscernible – the writing was very messy, but the actual text was readable, though in a few bits Javert had to squint a little.

"_Today prisoner 24601 amazed us by an amazing feat we had thought no man capable of._

_One of our men went out to the yard to check on the convicts. To his astonishment, 24601 (also known as Jean Valjean) had scaled one side of the prison wall. We couldn't believe it at first, and he was quite a trial to get down, but that is what he did, difficult as it may be to comprehend._

_With this small revelation, other aspects of 24601's physical ability have become a little more obvious. We have watched, with our own eyes, as he lifted a stone almost as large as his own body, and undoubtedly heavier."_

_Several lines scratched out and unreadable…_

"_We have decided to keep a closer eye on him, as he seems potentially dangerous."_

Upon reading this, Javert tilted his head a little. He had seen the convict 24601… seen Jean Valjean… in his dream, and now he found that the man was potentially dangerous. Apparently he had only been arrested for robbery with violence, and then kept longer in jail for several escape attempts. All the same, this unsettled Javert. To have envisioned such a man then discovered he was real was… well… disturbing.

After a few minutes of consideration, he snapped the book shut, shoved it hastily into his greatcoat pocket, then got to his feet and left the office. Javert was a man of impulse and it occurred to him now to go outside.

_Wait, go where?_

_Outside._

_Why?_

_To reflect. And… just because._

For some reason Javert found himself unable to argue with this inexplicable urge. Besides, he didn't have any paperwork to do here and he might as well start patrolling early. He started out the door and then stopped as possibly the most annoying voice in human existence reached his ears.

"Inspector, where are you going?"

_The day clingy subordinates stop following me like desperate puppies and miraculously vanish from the face of the Earth,_ thought Javert, freezing in the doorway, _will be a happy one._ He turned to face Clement. "I believe, Jeune," he said coolly, "that it is none of your business."

"Can I come?" Clement looked hopeful. Javert could tell that the young man was aching for a chance to prove his worth, but this was different; Javert was here faced with a personal case. He tried to avoid these if at all possible – they interfered with one's job – but this was an uncontrollable exception; not to say he was pleased with it.

He figured the answer went without saying, but said it anyway. "No."

"Why not?"

Javert sighed. "Look, Jeune. This is a personal case involving me and me alone. I don't want you to interfere."

"Inspector, I could –"

"Jeune!"

Clement abruptly fell silent. Javert continued. "Look, Clement, I am your superior," he said, using the man's first name for probably the first time, "and believe me; I would like to teach you. I would like nothing more than to have a world full of people like you, open-minded to the Law; but Jeune, if you won't listen to me and obey your superiors, there is nothing I can do for you."

The subordinate dipped his head. "I'm sorry, Inspector."

"Do you have any idea how many times you've said that in the past few hours?" Javert shook his head. "Look, it doesn't matter – I'm going now. I'll be coming back later on."

"Inspector, are you _sure_ you don't want me to help?"

Javert had begun to walk out the door, but Clement was only a few steps behind.

"Jeune, it's fine."

"Yes, but you…" Clement sighed. "You seem stressed. Is something wrong? I mean, I know you told me not to ask, but… well…" Javert said nothing to this, allowing Clement to continue. The subordinate looked up at him. "I just wanted to make sure."

Javert gazed contemplatively at him for a moment. "No, I'm alright. I guess I'm just having… personal issues.

"They don't concern you," he added.

Clement nodded. "Alright then, but if you –"

"Jeune. Are you my psychiatrist?" Clement shook his head meekly. "Then stop speaking as if you are."

With that, he turned and simply strode off, a little more hastily than he would have usually.

The sun was high in the mid-day sky and the streets were choked with pedestrians, ambling alongside the fiacres and carriages.

_There are too many people out here at this time of day…_ he thought as he dodged an old woman who was walking with an escort. _I should really consider another route._

He moved into one of the alleys, knowing this was relatively stupid. Any number of criminally-minded people could be lurking down here – just the usual sort you found down alleys. It didn't really matter – it was day time, after all, and it was at night that the criminal population seemed to awake. Under cover of night, they could sneak from their hideaways like bugs seeping from cracks in the sides of buildings and beneath tiles, raising their heads to the night sky. Night was probably the best-suited time; at night one was harder to recognize. The dark was in alliance with the criminal underworld, providing a mask to top all masks – but at a minor price: those who fell into darkness would never enjoy the light again.

The tale of partnership between the dark and those who inhabited it has potential to become a long one, which is why we shall stop now and return to the light, where our story will continue for the time being.

The alley was, as Javert now discovered, a dead end one. He turned around with intentions of heading in another direction only to find himself faced with a man. Ordinarily he would have passed another man without a second thought, but something here anchored him to the spot – a sort of negative force that dared him to move but at the same time forbade him.

"Are you the one they call Javert?" asked the man. Javert froze. The very words from his dream. Of course, it was probably a coincidence – plenty of people about the city knew who he was and it was only natural that a few people would want to greet him like this. However, on closer inspection of the man's face Javert began to recognize him. He said nothing, for fear of stammering and disconfirming his confidence. Instead he nodded mutely, frowning. When the other man made no response, Javert ventured to speak. "And who are you?" His tone was critical and untrusting as ever, but there was a hint of uncertainty behind it, barely tangible.

The man looked at him, right in the eyes. "My name is Jean Valjean," he said, with conviction. He looked Javert up and down then nodded. "We've met."

Javert stared at him. _Perhaps we have, but not in person… surely not._

"You look different, of course. Promotion? New uniform?"

The man's manner was casual and almost amiable, but the way he said it was making Javert uneasy. This man who he had met only in some twisted nightmare would approach him and speak to him like this? "I believe so, if we met when I think we did."

"Toulon, right?"

The police officer frowned. Why would a convict blatantly announce their identity to _him_? He was either stupid or wanted to be arrested again – but for some reason when Javert considered each possibility he could see no conclusive statement supporting either. If he were stupid, it would have been more apparent in his speech; and if he wanted to be arrested, he probably would have said so by now instead of playing these silly games. Frustration was building in Javert's mind. His level of patience had dropped considerably today already – what with Clement plaguing him at each turn – and he wanted straight answers to everything. "Look, who are you, really?"

Jean Valjean frowned. "I thought I already told you. I'm Jean Valjean – we met at Toulon prison?"

"If you are Jean Valjean," said Javert coolly, "am I to understand that you are also the ex-convict 24601?" The man nodded and Javert simply looked at him. "Why are you talking to me so openly, then? You're a con. It's just plain idiotic."

"I am talking to you openly because I'm supposed to tell you something."

Javert raised his eyebrows slightly. "Is that so? What would that be?"

"I'm supposed to tell you that you have to persevere so that –"

He stopped abruptly, gazing past Javert's head and upward. Javert ignored that, not even bothering to turn to see what he was looking at, if anything. He found himself genuinely interested. "So that what?"

"I have to leave." Valjean turned around, running for the exit.

"Now wait just one minute, I think –"

It was too late – he was gone. Javert stared at the empty mouth of the alleyway, frowning for a few seconds, then started after him; but when he was finally amongst the crowd he found that the man was nowhere to be seen. He'd simply vanished into the mass, indiscernible from anyone else, if he was still there at all.

_Odd… very odd,_ he thought, frowning. He reached into his greatcoat pocket, contemplated the book again and then continued to watch the crowd for a while before striding off back to the police station. He had completely forgotten the original reason for leaving – he felt he had simply been motivated to do so.

_I am being compelled to do these things – and they're ridiculous._ Javert contemplated the recent events whilst walking. _And that man. Jean Valjean. Who _is_ he?_

**So you all know, there is a reason behind the random compulsions which will become clear in due course – I'm not trying to make Javert or Valjean OOC… even though they probably are.**

**Well, it wasn't as fantastic as my first chapter, but when I finished this off I was a little depressed, admittedly, having had a small tiff with an ex-bestie that affected me a little. I'm sorry because I feel pathetic having personal issues keeping me from posting well, but all the same… cut me a little slack.**

**Do, however, tell me if there is anything wrong with this chapter, which I'm relatively sure there IS, considering its current… state.**

**I shall post this, regret it profusely, and continue on with my life. I hope to make a mini-buffer of chapters to last me through the school term but it's unlikely considering my current mental state.**

**Regards…**

**Annabel Keys**


	3. Uncertainty and Dispute

**UPDATE THREE: MONDAY 9TH OCTOBER**

**Disclaimer:**

**Javert: Annabel doesn't own me. She doesn't own any of this.**

**Valjean: And not me.**

**Clément: She _does_ own me and Raphael, though.**

**Annabel: GET ON WITH IT!**

**Javert, Valjean, Raphael & Clément: -sigh-**

**Clément: And now… er… Annabel wants us to perform a little… dance number in acknowledgement of the fact that this is indeed her work aside from the borrowed characters and should not be plagiarized.**

**Annabel: Woohoo!**

**-After a short puff of smoke Valjean, Javert, Clément and Raphael appear in female cheerleader outfits with black and blue pom-poms-**

**Valjean, Javert, Clément & Raphael: Two, four, six, eight, whose work do we all really hate? Annabel's! Woop, woop! Annabel's!**

**Annabel: GYAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!**

**-the four men slope offstage to recover from the highly embarrassing situation-**

**Author's Note:**

**Heehee… dance, puppets, dance! –receives glare from all four- Er… well, kiddies. I've done a little homework, so a few smart people should be starting to work things out a little by the end of this chapter.**

**Sorry for lack of update last week – my laptop was confiscated.**

**I now have a plot outline and have the events of each chapter fully planned. There are going to be six chapters – but perhaps more, depending on my mood.**

**Right, okay. My schedule is as follows:**

**THIS WEEK: Update late. Study, study, study and try to fit in chapter four amidst.**

**EXAM WEEK: I will possibly update with the chapter I've written during this time but the Monday after I probably won't be updating as I'll have been busy all week.**

**Dedication: To Javert's-Wench – who, in collaboration with me, is going to drug Javert/get him drunk so we can drag him off to Los Vegas and marry him (don't think too hard on it) – and whom I also love for critiquing chapter two and sending me the picture of her _gorgeous_ Les Mis finger puppets. :3**

"Inspector, are you sure you're alright?"

"Absolutely."

Clément looked skeptical as Javert continued to pace up and down the room in a similar fashion to that of the last few minutes. He frowned. He'd never seen the inspector so agitated. Something serious must have been going on. Clément Jeune didn't study Javert's frame of mind but this sudden change of mood was thoroughly unanticipated. Jeune had seen Javert in a bad mood, but never really this stressed; and the fact that Javert, who was Clément's idol, incapable of fault, was now pacing with the agitation of… well, a normal man… that unsettled him. It was like seeing one of your parents cry – well of course, Javert wasn't Clément's father, but the subordinate viewed him similarly; and of course, he wasn't crying, he was just stressed out. Clément didn't understand what was making Javert this way. Was it him? Was it his fault? Could he possibly have done something to drive Javert into this amount of stress?

Javert stopped pacing abruptly, as if suddenly remembering he was in the presence of a subordinate. He couldn't quite grasp what it was that had just come over him. He stared at Clément blankly. "Is something wrong, Jeune?" he asked, a little mocking of the question Jeune had asked him so many times. It wasn't kind of him to attack the subordinate like this – he knew that – but somehow with all the stress of all that had gone on he'd forgotten.

Clément shook his head. "No, Monsieur." The subordinate gazed past him to his desk. Contrary to its normal condition the desk was a little scruffy – a few papers strewn almost carelessly across it; a folder, lying open with a document or two hanging out limply… Clément frowned. This was unusual, yet it wasn't quite apparent why – _everyone _let their desk get a little messy once in a while, but…

Well… Javert _didn't_. It wasn't _like_ him to leave his desk like that. It wasn't _normal_. It was a decrease – a deterioration – Clément didn't understand.

Javert was still observing him with a casual, slightly cold expression. Suddenly, something occurred to the inspector and he stepped forward, reached into his greatcoat pocket for the book and showed it to Clément. "Have you seen this before?"

The movement was sudden and a startled expression came over Clément's face. Javert didn't seem to notice or care, merely waiting for a straight answer. "N-no, Inspector – what is it?" Clément inquired, shaking his head and taking the book carefully from Javert's grasp with the air of one nervously plucking a lying bone from between a dog's front paws with the constant fear that it will suddenly change its mind about leaving the object unprotected and bite.

The older man relinquished the book easily – yet with the uneasy look typical of someone unsure of disclosing a secret, wondering if this were the right person to tell it to. Clément perceived the awkwardness and tilted his head a little. Javert kept his eyes on the book, not Clément's face. "It's a file on a prisoner – a convict from Toulon prison. His name is Jean Valjean."

"I… see." Clément was now leafing through the book. "What did he do, Inspector?"

"He stole food – broke a window. He tried a few escapes and then broke parole when he was finally released; and he's still out there." Javert continued to watch the book intently. "He's nothing to do with _you_, of course – except I wondered if you'd put this on my desk, or if you were put up to it by Rouge or someone like that."

"No, I told you, I've never seen it before," said Clément, a little bewildered, "and Raphael never so much as mentions you when we talk… and if he does, it's usually -"

"Derogatory, I know," Javert finished the sentence for him. "Never mind, then."

He pulled the book delicately from Clément's hands. Clément dipped his head a little, and then let his arms drop to his sides. "Inspector…"

"Yes?"

"You said it wasn't anything to do with me – but what about you?" Concern was leaking into the subordinate's voice as he again dropped into the frame of mind that would have made him a formidable psychiatrist.

Javert paused. "Yes, I am directly involved," he said stiffly.

"You've met him, Inspector?"

"Yesterday," said Javert, as he shoved the book back into his pocket. "He ran off before I could question him properly."

"But the …" Clément began, then thought better of it and stopped. Javert looked at him. "Don't worry, Inspector – it doesn't matter."

After a few moments of staring contemplatively at what seemed to be Clément, but was probably empty space, Javert glanced vaguely in the direction of his desk. Clément expected him to notice the clutter, but he simply didn't – his gaze simply passed over it, and then he looked toward the door. "Ugh… I suppose not." He paused. "Jeune? I'm going to go and patrol the streets for a while. Are you going to come with me?"

Concern seemed to vanish from Clément's face, which lit up at the prospect. "I'd love to!"

_One more reaction like that, and he's going,_ thought Javert critically, lip twitching ever-so-slightly. "Alright then," he said, feeling like a weary parent. "You go and get your coat. I'll be at the door."

Clément left hurriedly.

_He's so childish. I _really_ don't know why I'm tolerating him._

_Oh, he's just a rookie. He's not hurting anyone._

_Yes, well, he's an _annoying_ rookie. The sooner he realizes he isn't good enough for this job, the better._

Javert shrugged off the thoughts and walked out of the office – into a familiar face. "Javert."

He sighed. "Raphael."

Raphael Rouge has already been introduced to this tale as a vague, sketchy figure – and we have now granted him the possession of a face. To describe that face, one would first have to picture a Egyptian Mau cat. A head slightly narrower than usual, with a sense of everything being a little elongated. A proud arch forming part of the nose – tapered, oval eyes a hazel-ish colour. Dark brown hair – short, slightly curly. Raphael's clothes were nothing remarkable. He simply wore the uniform of the time – a red and blue ensemble with a little gold. To compare him to the meeker Clément would be to compare the Egyptian Mau to a tabby kitten – the latter was absolutely pathetic in comparison. Javert, as some may have noted, has been compared at some point to a dog, putting him at least a little above Raphael in strength and authority – but Raphael, again with the inbred arrogance of a cat, paid no heed to this.

"Oh, using my first name now? That's civil. I thought you were too above me to use that," said Rouge.

Javert sighed again and shook his head a little. "Must I remind you every time we meet that I am now your superior and I command your respect?"

"You didn't command my respect when we were in training. You were a pushover."

The cat had dealt the dog an arrogant blow, but Javert did not seem fazed. "I don't care about whatever quarrels we might have had back then. I'm living in the present, Rouge."

"Hah! No you aren't. I've seen that book on your desk – _Toulon_, Inspector?" The title was pronounced mockingly. "God, I remember when we were in the same patrol group, and you used to walk up and down the cells just looking at them all. What were you doing? Looking for the one you were born in?"

The last attack might have been brushed off but this one hit where it was supposed to.

Javert's face darkened. The air around him was black ice – just clear of the laughing, mocking sunshine of those childish ones who use age-old techniques to bully. Raphael, of course, had absolutely no idea of the half-truth he had just spoken. He knew only that whatever it was, it had annoyed Javert immensely and thus got him his way.

"I would suggest, Raphael," said Javert coldly, "that you cease your childish taunts before I see to your dismissal."

"Oh, you'll do that, will you?" Raphael smirked slightly at him. "Well –"

Before he could make whatever cutting remark he had been about to make, Clément usefully intervened. "Oh, hello Monsieur Rouge!" he said, after glancing briefly at Javert.

"Clément – lovely." Raphael faked a relatively convincing amiable tone and transferred his attention to the subordinate – but not before casting another smirk at Javert, who simply stood there, having realized his flaw and regained his composure.

Clément smiled, then glanced over at Javert and realized that now wasn't the time for conversation. He quickly saved the situation by resuming his brightness and asking, "Well, are we going?"

If Javert were surprised to hear Clément say something intelligent he didn't show it. "Yes. We are." He started out the door with the young man, not pausing for a goodbye – though Clément waved tentatively over his shoulder.

OoooO

"You don't like Monsieur Rouge, do you?" asked Clément when they were out further on the street. Javert laughed dryly.

"Well, aren't you perceptive?" He never focused entirely on Clément, his gaze wandering about the surrounding area, carefully trained to spot anything outside the law. Occasionally he turned to look at his subordinate, but never for an extended period of time. He did this now. "No – Raphael and I have never quite seen eye-to-eye."

"I don't like him either." The way Clément said it made him sound almost a little guilty for not thinking to the contrary. Javert noticed, but didn't point it out. He hadn't ever seen Clément openly express dislike for another person.

The inspector raised his eyebrows a little. "Oh? Why not?"

"He's just…" Clément struggled to find the right expression. "When he's talking to me, I'm always wondering what emotion he's covering up. He doesn't like me, either, I don't think… or you, Inspector. He's got virtually no apparent respect for you, even though you're higher ranking than him."

_He's smarter than he looks,_ thought Javert, and turned to look at him again. "All valid points," he said, a half-smile creeping onto his face. So they had something in common. He'd never thought that was likely.

"You think so, Inspector? I…" Clément shook his head. "I don't."

Javert looked at him. The subordinate went on. "I don't like holding things against people – or having secrets that could get them into trouble. Just…"

"I know what you're talking about." The inspector nodded. "Which is not to say I hold the same beliefs – but I do know what you mean."

Clément tilted his head, barely daring to believe that his callous superior had just _agreed _with him. It just didn't happen. "Really?" Suddenly Javert stopped dead, and his face expressed an emotion Clément had not thought him capable of. "Um… Inspector? Are you alright?"

"Wait – what did I just say?" Javert's voice had lost its usual bravado and he looked positively befuddled. He didn't seem to realize that in doing this he had lost authority over Clément. The subordinate was now more dominant in the situation for the sole reason that Javert was now asking him questions. Not "what are you doing?" or "will you shut up?" – "what did I just say?"

"You… said…" Clément was unused to holding the upper hand over someone as dominant as Javert. "You said you knew what I meant but didn't necessarily agree… something like that."

"Oh…" Javert seemed lost for a couple of seconds. Then his brow furrowed and he regained his composure. "Alright then." He seemed to recover almost instantly, and continued to walk down the street. Clément stared blankly at him in a sort of disbelief.

"_Inspector_?" His voice clearly portrayed his utter confusion. Javert didn't even look back at him.

"Come on, Jeune."

"Are – are you _absolutely_ sure you're alright?"

**The end of this was written a little hurriedly – but I'm pretty pleased with the chapter overall, though I'm almost afraid to compliment my own work with all the critics out there…**

**I've dropped a few very distinct hints as to what's going on in this chapter but you'll just have to work them out for yourselves as I'm giving nothing away. Clément is also about to become very, very significant, and will be revealing a lot later on.**

**IF YOU WORK IT OUT, DO NOT PUT IT IN YOUR REVIEW WHERE EVERYONE CAN SEE. PM ME IF YOU REALLY WANT TO COMMENT ON IT.**

**All will become clear later on…**

**Yours unusually;**

**Annabel, the Authoress**


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